


Norm

by yeaka



Series: Random Roleswaps [11]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 11:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16786507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Gladiolus does Noctis’ paperwork.





	Norm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karaiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karaiel/gifts).



> A/N: Doing random FFXV roleswap ficlets. This one’s a fill karaiel’s “Shield!Ignis and Advisor!Gladio, either in an established relationship or just getting together” suggestion. Lemme know if you want one.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Noctis’ table is already a mess when Gladiolus gets there, and he hates that he has to clean it off first—he needs room to work, and he might as well do it here, because Noctis will have to sign everything that he fills out. Noctis’ place is marginally nicer than his, in that it’s more expensive—furnished on a prince’s budget instead of a royal adviser’s. But Noctis has plummeted its value with discarded clothes and junk food rappers. Gladiolus tells himself he won’t clean it up this time. Not past the table, anyway. 

Noctis isn’t home yet, which is another problem—Gladiolus shoots out a quick text, only to receive: _Out with Prom. Back soon._ Gladiolus knows darn well that it won’t be ‘soon’ at all.

He sets to work anyway, because there’s _always_ work to do. Sometimes Gladiolus wonders how he even manages to sleep. The stack of paperwork he drops onto the oak surface is nearly an inch thick, and none of it’s more than a few days old. It never ends. Dropping into the only chair not covered in refuse, Gladiolus starts sorting them out across the tabletop—ones Noctis has to actually _read_ , ones he can just sign off on, and others he’s technically _supposed_ to sign but Gladiolus will advise him not to.

The stack’s only a quarter of the way through when the apartment door opens. Gladiolus automatically growls, “You’ve been out way too late for a school night!” Then he looks up, waiting to continue the scolding. Except Ignis is the one to round the corner. 

Quirking a brow above the rim of his thin glasses, Ignis replies, “I apologize.” His plush lips quirk into a subtle smile when he adds, “I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit.”

Gladiolus can feel his cheeks heating. He’s too caught off guard to be as smooth as Ignis, and instead of playing into that offer, he mutters, “Sorry. ‘Thought you were Noct.” Then, because Ignis surely came over in search of their prince, he throws in, “He’s still out with Prompto.”

Ignis nods in acceptance and strolls closer. He’s in more casual attire today—too-tight pants and a purple coeurl-patterned shirt, instead of the usual black-and-silver leathers of the Crownsguard. He comes right to Gladiolus’ side before stopping, eyes raking across the table. “I admit,” he murmurs, standing perilously close to Gladiolus’ lap, “I’d hoped to find you as much as him.”

Ignis’ voice is like warm honey. It doesn’t _quite_ have the seductive spin that Ignis employs when he wants to be utterly _irresistible_ , but the bait is there. Gladiolus slowly answers, “If it’s about Noct’s training schedule, I can go over it with you in a minute. I want to finish this first.”

Ignis smiles politely, patiently. His ash-brown hair is combed up today, away from his face, exposing his eyes and perfect cheekbones. His handsome body is a vision, one that distracts Gladiolus completely, but that’s nothing new. When it becomes clear that Gladiolus’ attention is too caught up in Ignis to deal with papers, Ignis notes, “Maybe you should fit yourself into that schedule and workout with us some time. You obviously maintain workouts on your own.”

Gladiolus shrugs. He does, but: “Not to royal shield level.”

Ignis’ eyes flicker to Gladiolus’ broad shoulders. “Those muscles say otherwise.” 

Flattered and _trying_ not to get too worked up, Gladiolus counters, “Bulk isn’t everything. Look at you—you’re a twig, and you’re the deadliest man I know.”

Ignis’ smile grows, even though Gladiolus called him a twig—he must know that Gladiolus thinks him a supremely attractive one. Everybody does. Ignis drops the debate but lifts his hand to Gladiolus’ bicep, squeezing lightly. With Gladiolus jacket off and the usual tank top on, it’s all exposed: it’s skin on skin. Ignis’ hand is strangely soft, even though he works with his hands. Ignis admits, “Even if you don’t need the extra training, I was hoping to get you worked up and sweaty.”

So much for subtly. Gladiolus stares up into Ignis’ eyes, feeling every bit of heat they radiate. It’s an honour, really, to have the royal shield want to train him. But Gladiolus isn’t flattered, just _hungry._

Like reading his mind, and deliberately interpreting it wrong, Ignis slips away and offers, “How about I make dinner? I’m sure Noct could use a home-cooked meal when he returns.”

“It’s supposed to be my job to watch his nutrition,” Gladiolus teases. In reality, Ignis is a much better cook than him. And that way they can both have things to do, keeping one another company while they wait for their friend and charge. It makes Gladiolus regret that he’s in that charge’s apartment—if they were somewhere more private, their night would surely go differently.

Of course, there’ll still be night left when Noctis is home, well fed and finished with his papers. Gladiolus looks forward to that and returns to work.


End file.
